


Always Listen to the Psychic

by argent_snow



Category: Almost Human
Genre: AU, Attempt at Humor, Friendship, Friendship!Maya Vaughn/MX-43, Gen, So crackfic it hurts, crackfic, genfic, gift-fanfic, impossible weather for the lolz, kind of contains spoilers for Episode 5: Blood Brothers, minor appearances by John; Rudy; and Dorian, ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argent_snow/pseuds/argent_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the traffic cop is actually wrong and ends up paying the price. Crackfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Listen to the Psychic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyntyn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lyntyn).



> Don’t own Almost Human. I know I said I would refrain from uploading new fanfics until I updated one of my incomplete ones, but this is actually a gift-fic for a fanfic/fanart exchange with my Tumblr friend Lyntyn (and it’s a one-shot, so you guys won’t have to worry about it being left in limbo 8D *gets shot*). I’m currently writing Chapter 2 for ‘The Glory Days are Over,’ so that should come sometime after this. 
> 
> Warning – this is the crackiest crackfic I’ve ever written. It becomes even more surreal toward the end. Or something like that. You’ve been forewarned. 8D *gets shot*

* * *

Unit 115 was going on his way to fulfill his traffic duties when he caught sight of a blonde woman heading toward the doors. His HUD identified her as Maya Vaughn, a witness that was under protective custody.

“Excuse me, Ms. Vaughn!” he called out, quickening his stride.

The woman froze at the sound of his voice. _‘So close,_ ’ he saw her reflection mouth silently. The frustrated look on her face disappeared when she turned around and smiled widely at him.

“Ma’am, you shouldn’t be leaving the precinct. You are in protective custody,” he said gravely.

“Oh, I wasn’t leaving the precinct, silly,” she admonished. “I was just looking for some food…I’m kind of hungry…”

The MX blinked, and his eyes darted over her shoulder, where the glass doors showed a transparent view of the parking lot outside. Leaving through these doors would effectively be leaving the precinct, unless she was referring to the coffee shop that was just next door. Still, letting her step out into the open would render her protection useless, and the protocols that dictated the MX’s decisions made it explicit that he could not let that happen.

He took a step forward. “There is a lounge room on this floor. I cannot let you go outside.”

The woman bit her lower lip, absentmindedly twisting the fabric in her hands. “Alright,” she finally said. “Can you show me where it is? This place is so big…”

115 had a route he needed to go on, but Maya Vaughn’s status was important enough to temporarily supersede his original objective. “It would not be a problem, ma’am.”

He waited for her to fall into step beside him before heading off to the lounge room. She did not engage him in conversation again, and 115 made no attempt to start one. He noticed that the woman was obsessively wrapping the scarf around her hands and loosening it repeatedly. Her lips would occasionally move silently, but the movements were too small for him to accurately read the words. He shrugged aside the woman’s strange behavior and focused on the pathway.

“I’m trying, _I’m trying_.” The woman suddenly hissed out loud, drawing 115’s attention. She was agitatedly pulling at the scarf. “Look, he caught us, so I can’t just –”

“Is there something wrong, Ms. Vaughn?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Maya’s cheerful tone was forced. She turned her head to glance over her shoulder, hands nervously wringing the scarf. “No, no, we have to wait, I got a plan – really, I do,” she muttered under her breath. Unbeknownst to the young woman, the MX  heard every single word with his enhanced, auditory senses. The android chose not to comment since the statement was clearly not directed toward him.

Or anyone in the hallway, apparently. But that didn’t bother 115.

“You should be more careful,” Maya suddenly said.

The MX glanced at her. “Careful?” he repeated.

Maya nodded solemnly, her brow furrowed in concentration. “I see you in a very bad situation, two weeks from now. …Looks like you’re almost out of energy. Hmm, it’s very windy, very white…I’d say it’s about two inches.”

115 became even more confused. “Two inches of what?”

Maya grinned widely. “Snow, of course! Wow, you don’t see that often. The last time it snowed was probably over forty years ago –”

“That is impossible,” 115 dismissed. “Reports from the weather station do not indicate a snowstorm, or any cold front. And this is a West Coast city.”

“Ah. And you trust these meteorologists?” Maya’s tone was indulgent, as if she was humoring the MX. “More than a petite, medium psychic?”

He blinked. “It is the more credible source.”

The woman made a _tutting_ noise with her tongue. “That’s what they all say,” she said pityingly.

115 was saved from having to reply to that when the lounge room came into view. He let Maya enter in first. The woman glanced over her shoulder before she reluctantly shuffled into the room.

“Here is the donut machine,” 115 said, gesturing to the vending appliance.

She hummed, leaning down to peer at the buttons on the display. “Looks tricky. Can you help me get one?”

The innocent-sounding question did not set off any alarm bells in the MX’s CPU. He moved closer to the machine, failing to notice how the woman began to slowly edge away. “What kind of donut do you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Can you get me one that takes the longest to make? Maybe two of them?” Maya asked breezily behind him.

Her decision made him pause. If he was to fulfill that request, the donuts that would come out would have an unhealthily large amount of calories and sugar in it. It would also be very unappetizing too, since every option – icing, sprinkles, and every topping or filling available – would be packed into those two pastries. But that didn’t concern him as much as the calorie factor, since the MX wasn’t aware of what was considered disgusting or not. 

“I do not recommend that, Ms. Vaughn. It would surpass your recommended calorie intake by 450.3 calories.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Well, he did warn her about it, and she continued to insist that it was a good choice. 115 proceeded to enter in the appropriate commands onto the display. The donut machine made a strange keening noise, one he had never heard it emit before.

A couple minutes passed. The machine spat out two donuts on a plastic wrap. 115 picked it up and turned around. “Here are your do –”

The woman was gone.

* * *

If he was human, 115 would have been hyperventilating.

But because he was an MX and did not have the appropriate emotions or body structure for such an action, 115 was quietly calculating the statistical chance of getting a direct headshot from a certain Detective John Kennex. He wasn’t frightened by the prospect, even though it was very probable. No, the traffic cop was deliberating the amount of speed and energy needed to dodge said bullet, and whether he would be online long enough to file a misconduct on the man.

Three minutes after Maya Vaughn had disappeared, several other MXs had observed the detective stomping angrily through the precinct, demanding how a single person under protective custody could have possibly sneaked outside when there were dozens of MXs on every floor. It was a valid concern, made all the more alarming when the MX network clearly showed that 115 was the last MX to make contact with Maya. Detective Kennex wasn’t aware of this fact, only because he couldn’t access the network himself, and none of the other MXs bothered to enlighten him since the detective did not explicitly ask _who_ was responsible for this mishap. But 115 didn’t doubt that he would find the truth soon enough if his DRN partner were to connect to the MX network and access the logs.

It wasn’t a secret to all of the MXs on what happened to Detective Kennex’s MX partner. Officially, it was a malfunction that had caused Unit 785 to drop out of the moving cruiser, but 115 was mostly confident that was not possible, unless the detective had some strange sort of frequency on him that caused any MXs in proximity to either glitch or be offlined sometime in the next 3.2 hours. Which was a probable explanation that should seriously be taken in account, considering how many of the MXs that crossed the detective’s path had either gotten a headshot, or been destroyed in the most ruinous ways imaginable. They were _still_ finding parts of 785 on that highway.

In other words, 115 was very likely to break the city’s record as the most short-lived traffic cop ever.

“What’d you find?”

The MX twitched at the voice, and turned around to face the man. “There are no trackers, Detective,” he said, utilizing the most non-confrontational tone his subroutines allowed. It wasn’t hard, since the vocoder installed on all MXs had a generally flat tone. “Your vehicle is clean.”

John nodded, looking distracted. He held out his cellphone. “I want you to turn this phone into a secure comm, okay? Completely off police channels.”

115 carefully picked up the cell in a deliberate, precise movement, concentrating on not accidentally dropping it through some spontaneous spasm or destroying it with an electrical surge. Both of which were possible if his hypothesis on the detective’s fatal frequency was true. He missed the strange look the detective shot him. “Certainly. One moment.”

When he was done encrypting the device’s frequency, he offered it back to the man. John raised his eyebrows when the MX quickly jerked his hand back as soon as he took his cell, but did not comment on it.

There were more important matters to focus on than a shifty-looking MX.

* * *

Two weeks later, Rudy Lom came downstairs onto the MX Facilities. The two technicians that were with him were carrying boxes full of battery-cells. All morning rituals were put to a halt when the chief technician called for an impromptu meeting.

“Listen up,” Rudy hollered. “Today’s temperature is twenty-eight degrees –”

“Twenty-seven point eight,” an MX beside 115 corrected him.

Rudy scowled. “Twenty-seven point eight degrees Fahrenheit,” he repeated, with the long-suffering tone of one who had tried arguing with an MX about the merits of rounding up and failing. “Snow’s expected to fall at two inches. This is great news for the residents – most of them have never seen snow before. _But_ it’ll be bad news for you, and I’m expecting it’ll get worse by the end of the day.” Rudy picked up a battery pack and held it out for them to see.

“These babies are going to be your life-savers,” the chief technician said solemnly. “Has enough of a charge for at least two days. Not as powerful as your capsules, so you’ll have to carefully manage your processes. I want all the traffic cops and community service models to get these right now –”

“We do not need these, Dr. Lom,” 115 said. “Regulation 2110-04A mandates that all synthetics return to the precinct by 9 PM –”

“ _You_ are living in a fairy tale world, my friend,” Rudy said, looking exasperated. When all the MXs stared blankly at him, the man sighed. “Look, we’re talking two inches of snow in a city that hasn’t seen it for over four decades. Most of the people out there won’t know how to drive in that weather, and you’ll be seeing accidents and road blocks very quick.” Rudy snapped his fingers. “So. If I’m right, and I’m usually right, you’ll be called to pull double-shifts to mitigate the disaster. That’s the best case scenario. Worst case scenario is that the bridge ices over and traffic completely stops. Sporadic blackouts. You’ll _really_ need these by then.”

Although some of the MXs still showed skepticism with Rudy’s explanation, they all dutifully lined up to get their portable, battery packs. When 115 received his, a memory he had shoved back into the crevices of his mind decided to make itself known.

_You should be more careful_.

_Two inches of snow._

_Almost out of energy._

He narrowed his eyes, mouth thinning into a straight line. A technician made the mistake of looking at the MX’s face and _eep_ -ed when he saw how scarily blank the android’s expression was. 115 jammed the battery pack into one of the empty pockets on the front of his bulletproof vest and immediately started for the elevator.

Both the self-proclaimed psychic and the chief technician were being overly cautious. 115 was sure the roads would not be as chaotic as Rudy made it out to be, and he was _definitely_ sure that he didn’t need the psychic’s advice.

115 casually reached up and patted the pocket holding the battery pack, checking to see if it was zipped up tightly. Only because he didn’t want to accidentally lose the Department’s property.

That was it. Just keeping it safe.  _Not_ because he was actually considering the psychic’s warning.

* * *

 

That was before he found out the city only had one salt truck.

 

* * *

It was Day 3, and 115 was literally running on the last dregs of his internal battery. The backup battery he had received had been abandoned by the remains of his totaled motorcycle.

Which wasn’t his fault. He had _intentionally_ allowed it to crash. Really.

The MX had swerved his motorcycle to the right, barely avoiding a collision with a sliding civilian car. Unfortunately, his vehicle was soon compromised by the sleet he had inadvertently drove onto, and he quickly lost control. In a rare moment of self-preservation, 115 decided that he would rather stay online for another day, and promptly jumped off his vehicle.

Had it been a different situation, the MX would have utilized impact-absorbing actions to minimize the damage. But because it was the third day, and he had not gone back to the precinct for a decent recharge since then because Rudy _had been right_ , 115’s reaction times were drastically decreased.

He ended up breaking one-fourth of the trimidium circuits in his spinal cord.

Which was actually not that bad. His movements were a bit limited, but he could still walk back to the precinct. Slowly, but it was better than being rendered immobile. The latter of which would entirely be possible because of the backup battery Rudy had kindly sent out to them, a battery that still had enough charge for this one day.

A battery that had been irreparably broken when 115 failed to break the impact of his fall.

He had, of course, proceeded onwards with a calm mindset and radioed his position back to the precinct. The human operator took note of it and promised a rescue sometime in the next forty-eight hours. She proceeded to advise the MX to find shelter in a building and rig up a charge from there.

Unfortunately for 115, he was stranded in the shopping district. None of the buildings were occupied.

Hence, his current predicament.

_You should be more careful_.

He should have listened to her.

* * *

_Warning! Battery at 17%._ The alert emblazoned on his HUD blinked merrily at him. _Imminent Shut-Down in 20 minutes._

115 ignored it and continued to shuffle on, one hand pressed against the brick wall of a building to steady himself. The snow seeped past his combat boots and clothes, freezing his extremities. The frigid weather did not bother him as it would a human, but it was taxing on his internal battery and the conductive fluid running through his hydraulic tubes. 115 was forced to continually regulate his temperature at an operable level so that he wouldn’t freeze. It didn’t help that the winds buffeting against him were slowing his progress even more.

_Warning! Battery at 13%. Strenuous activity not recommended –_

It was so cold. His synthetic skin was numb all over, after he had ended the electrical pulses, which allowed him the sense of feeling, to conserve energy. He could easily escape the storm if he used his universal key to unlock one of the doors to the shops, but that was tantamount to breaking in, and his protocols did not allow that. The wall tapered off to a corner. 115 turned his head to the left. An alleyway. After a moment of hesitation, the MX ducked into the cover, and away from the blasting winds.

115 lumbered further in and stopped by a dumpster. He slowly lowered himself beside it and leaned against the wall. He raised his hand and lifted his visor. The snow and ice that had crusted onto it broke off and landed onto his lap. The android sent off a notice to the precinct detailing his current location, before disconnecting from the network. He stared blankly at the opposite wall, resigned to his imminent shut-down. A small _meow_ sounded out, catching his attention.

He glanced to his left, eyes falling to the space under the dumpster. Two bright green eyes gleamed up at him, the pupils thin slits.

A black paw tentatively slid out. And then another. Soon, the cat had crawled out and was edging toward him, its eyes watching him warily. When the android did not move, it padded over and pressed its body against his leg, purring when the heat emanating from him warmed it. The purr quickly turned into a yowl when a hand suddenly grabbed the scruff of its neck.

115 didn’t even blink when the cat scored a hit against his cheek. Calmly, he partially unzipped his bulletproof vest and placed the squirming cat into the opening. The stray stilled when he zipped his vest back up. It purred loudly, satisfied with its new shelter from the cold. The cat was unaware that its benefactor was using it as much as it was using him. The android was already beginning to feel a chill creep into his internal parts, as his temperature regulation began failing.

_Warning! Battery at 6% –_

The MX made one final movement, loosening his vest slightly so that the cat would be able to crawl out once he shut down. He settled back against the wall, eyes closing. The wind howled around him, whistling through the pipes. The cat continued to purr, its body warming his chest. Everything else was becoming cold.

_Warning –_

* * *

Something slapped his cheek.

115 opened his eyes. His HUD took several moments to stabilize, identifying the woman beside him as Maya Vaughn. She drew back, relief flickering across her face.

“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think you were a goner.”

The critical alert was gone. So was the cat. His eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. He was inside a car, sitting in the backseat. It was still snowing outside, and he could hear the harsh wind rattle past the windows.

“I found you in an alleyway. You have some scratch marks on your face, I don’t know how that happened –”

There was something on the back of his neck. He reached behind, his hand closing around two cables. Still disoriented, and his processes running at a slower rate than usual, 115 gave them an experimental tug.

And nearly keeled over when he inadvertently loosened the charging connection.

Maya swatted his hand. “Stop that,” she scolded.

The MX let her pry his hand off the cables and opened his mouth to inquire about the situation. Unfortunately, he chose to do so at the same time she reached around him to tug down his high collar, giving 115 a mouthful of blonde hair in the process. He twitched when she reinserted the cables into the port, the sudden jolt of electricity energizing his depleted stores. The much-needed energy cleared his mind enough for 115 to fully register the hair in his mouth, and he spat it out just as Maya withdrew from him.

“I worked very hard to get you back online, y’know,” she said. The woman pulled a blanket from the rear deck and offered it to him. The MX stared at it blankly for several seconds before accepting it, and slowly pulled the cover around his shoulders. Now that he was more aware of his surroundings, he took the time to analyze it.  His eyes darted to the cables that fell over his side, traveling along its length and pausing on some output ports under the control panel, to which they were connected to. The ignition key was in, allowing him a steady stream of electricity, but the heater was not running.

He was recharging from a car’s battery. It occurred to 115 that he was the first MX to do so.

“Didn’t know where your charging port was actually, so I had to call the dispatcher,” Maya continued. She sat back down in her seat and wrapped her own blankets around her. “I don’t think he knew where it was either, because the call was rerouted to a nearby MX – I think he said his name was 531? Anyway, he’s handling some mess at Riley Street, so he won’t be coming by until an hour or so. And I’m not planning on driving any more in this weather.” The woman gave him a disapproving look. “I had my own cables, but they’re not compatible. They had to send out a drone to drop off these. They don’t have any more battery packs. You should probably invest in a universal adapter, if you’re going to put yourself in situations like this.”

Her tone made it clear that she believed this oversight to be entirely his fault. And technically it was, because he had not been careful.

That thought reminded him of the incident from two weeks ago.

“You left before I could give you the donuts,” he said.

Maya rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “Oh, that. Yeah, sorry. You see, I had a very important favor to do for a friend –”

“You were in protective custody,” 115 said flatly. “You were the last witness to the Ethan Avery case, and a very high-profile target. Nothing could have been more important than your security –”

“It was a _favor_ for a _friend_ ,” she insisted. “It’s important to me.”

The MX stared blankly at the woman. “You were in protective custody –”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Maya threw her hands up in the air exasperatedly. “No use in arguing with an MX,” she muttered under her breath.

“That is because my logic is infallible.”

“Well, your logic didn’t help you today, did it?” There was a smug expression on Maya’s face. “I _told_ you to watch out for this storm, and you didn’t believe me! And now you’re stuck here recharging from my car’s battery.”

The MX suddenly became interested in the dog bobblehead on her dashboard. “The weather station did not predict this storm. And snow in a West Coast city is highly improbable.”

“I’m a psychic. I kind of know this stuff better than other people,” Maya said pointedly.

It was futile to deny the woman’s remark, considering her prediction had not only gotten his situation correct, but also the amount of snow that had dropped down on the city. To the exact inch. There were no such thing as coincidences, so 115 was forced to reevaluate the validity of the woman’s status as an apparently legitimate psychic. Or a petite medium psychic. He was surer about the ‘petite’ and ‘psychic’ part though, as the existence of a medium was simply preposterous. And illogical.

(So was the existence of a psychic, but 115 decided to ignore that).

“It would seem you are knowledgeable on certain events,” he admitted. “I was in error when I chose not to take your advice into account.”

Maya stared at the android with wide eyes, her mouth open in surprise. She recovered from her shock, beaming at him. “You should tell that to Detective Kennex! He’s a skeptic.”

115 didn’t deign to comment, inwardly thinking that unless he could help it, he would avoid Detective Kennex at all costs. Maya, of course, didn’t need to know that.

Silence filled the car. 115 began ending extraneous and redundant processes to lessen his energy usage and help him recharge faster. A loud sigh broke his concentration.

“It looks like we’ll be stuck out here for a while,” Maya said glumly, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself.

“If you knew a snowstorm was coming, why did you not stay inside?”

“Because _someone_ decided not to listen to me.” She ducked her head, burying her face into the blanket. “And it’s not all the time that I get to help someone after seeing their death.” Her voice was muffled and had a strange quality to it. “Bad things happen when I stop a person from getting killed. I’m not supposed to meddle, so I don’t. Not anymore.” Her gray eyes darted over to him. “Androids are different though.”

The MX remained quiet.

“It’s actually the first time I’ve helped an MX,” Maya continued. “Your auras are very weak. All the same color. I don’t usually get much of a reading from you guys, but when I do, it’s mostly your deaths. Stuff that can’t be helped – because you were in the line of duty. Yours though, I could stop. It was probably the most non-violent one I’ve seen – and completely _avoidable_ too if you just _listened_ to me.”

She forcibly elbowed his arm. The action caught him by surprise, and it sent him careening toward the door. A loud _twack_ sounded out when the side of his helmet collided against the window. The noise made Maya wince.

_Whoops, shoved him a bit too hard_ , she thought. But then again, he deserved it. He got them into this situation in the first place.

“I wouldn’t have been offlined,” he said almost defensively, straightening in his seat. “Just temporarily without power, until someone sent by the Department recovers me.”

Maya gave him a knowing look. “ _If_ the guys from the black market don’t get you first.”

Again, a valid point. The tenacity of criminals could not be underestimated, even in this weather.

A shudder wracked Maya’s body, and she pulled the blanket tighter, hissing under her breath. 115 hesitated, watching her from the corner of his eyes. Humans had a lower tolerability toward the cold, and backup wasn’t expected to arrive until an hour later, maybe even longer. After a moment of indecision, the MX scooted over to Maya and stiffly placed his arm across her shoulders.

The woman tensed, but relaxed when she realized what he was doing. She snuggled closer to his side, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.

“This is your fault,” she mumbled sleepily, lulled by the warmth emanating from him.

“I know. I have taken responsibility for it.”

“You should listen to me.”

“I will consider your opinion from now on,” he promised.

“Does that mean you’ll get rid of my tickets?”

“Of cour –” 115 broke off when he realized what she was asking. “Anything within the bounds of law,” he quickly amended. “That is not.”

Maya chuckled, closing her eyes. “I was just joking.”

A companionable tranquility settled in the car, only broken by the sudden bursts of howling winds. Maya dozed off, falling asleep. The MX remained alert, monitoring the comm channel for any updates. Two hours later, when Unit 531 radioed in and said he was just fifteen minutes away from their location, 115 shook Maya.

“Ms. Vaughn. 531 is fifteen minutes away. Wake up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Maya mumbled, eyes still closed.

The MX wasn’t deterred. “You will have to come with us to the precinct. The road to your house is closed.”

Her eyes flickered open. “Sounds lovely,” she sighed resignedly. Maya straightened, and moved her head from side to side, getting rid of the cricks. “It’ll be nice to see Dorian again.”

A thought occurred to 115. If Maya was temporarily staying at the precinct… “You said when you could see an MX’s future, it is usually how they are offlined?”

Maya tilted her head quizzically. “Yeah. Why?”

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly upwards.

“It would seem I need your assistance again, Ms. Vaughn.”

* * *

**Bonus Scene:**

A good portion of the Department’s human personnel was stuck at the precinct. The air mattresses that some officer found in the back of a closet were quickly taken out. Being the good friend he was, Dorian had braved the hordes of tired and annoyed cops to grab two mattresses – one for John, and the other for Maya. Disorder ensued when people began arguing over which spots were theirs, and who was allowed to sleep near the heaters. The MX Facilities were conveniently left out of the debate.

No one wanted to sleep in the same place as the MXs. No one – except Maya. At first, she had considered that option because she wanted to talk with Dorian, but when the DRN revealed that his recharge capsule had been relocated to Rudy’s workshop, she became uncertain. That was quickly remedied by 115, who offhandedly mentioned that there were showers in the MX facilities (“With heated water,” he emphasized to a wide-eyed Maya) and magnanimously promised to reserve her a spot, so that she wouldn’t have to wait in line. She accepted the offer more readily after that.

(Although hearing this, Dorian had to pull aside the MX and quietly told him to pass on this message to the rest of his series: do _not_ walk around the locker-room without wearing either clothes or a towel around their waists. 115 had been puzzled by the order and questioned it – to which Dorian simply replied, running a hand down his face, “It’s a human thing, man. Just – just don’t do it. For Maya’s sake, alright?”

Considering the DRN’s reliability in the majority of the cases he had taken on, 115 decided it was wise to heed the other android’s advice and promptly sent it through the MX network, tagged with a Level 5 priority alert.)

A portion of the locker-room was converted to Maya’s temporary resting place. The air mattress was fully equipped with the pillows and blankets she had brought from her car.

531 and 115 had scavenged some makeshift cables, extension cords, and power adapters from the offices above. They rigged these devices and connected it to several nearby plugs, making a haphazard mess of cables around Maya’s resting area. The purpose of this was to allow themselves and several other MXs to stay online and charge at the same time. It was a strange sight to behold – a handful of MXs in their navy-blue body suits, sitting around the bed. Their attention was on the blonde woman, who was currently reading Unit 302’s future. Or lack thereof.

“That’s not very nice!” Maya scolded. “You shouldn’t be picking on Dorian.”

302 looked puzzled. “I have not talked to the DRN unit for fourteen days and six hours.”

“Well, you will soon. And if you keep badmouthing Dorian, Detective Kennex might just shoot your head. Actually, he will. It’s a guarantee.”

An MX leaned toward 531, who was watching the proceedings with a grave expression. “Regulation 20019-01A states that unauthorized personnel cannot enter the Synthetic Facilities," 278 said.

“Captain Maldonado is concerned about the spike in the number of MXs being destroyed,” the dark-skinned MX said pointedly. “Ms. Vaughn is fixing that.”

A pause.

“I should get her an official visitor badge,” 278 said.

“You do that.”

.

 

.

 

.

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I just wrote this and posted it up shamelessly for everyone to read. It’s un-betaed (actually all my works are, but I wasn’t as thorough with editing this one as I was with the others), it’s ridiculously OOC (again, all the MXs in my fanfics are, but this is the farthest I have taken it), and it did not come out the way I wanted (at this point, I forgot how I actually wanted it to come out, lol). Someday I will seriously write Maya Vaughn. That day is not today. x_x 
> 
> If you were to go by the actual order of the episodes, and not in the order they were aired, Unit 302 would have unfortunately been shot down by John before Maya could warn him (I think Blood Brothers was supposed to be Episode 8, and You are Here was supposed to either be Episode 2 or 3). But since this is a crackfic and AU, I decided to give him a second chance. 8D And 531? He's the MX that gave John the 'are-you-serious' look after John's 'The night is still young~' comment. xD
> 
> Thanks to all my readers, anonymous and registered, and any comments/kudos/constructive criticisims/etc are always appreciated! Love all you guys! :D (Although in this case, I would understand if you hated this, lol). *throws platonic hearts and MX plushies*
> 
> To those of you waiting for updates on my incompletes, Chapter 2 for ‘The Glory Days are Over’ is coming up next – although when, I’m not sure. No worries, I’m definitely invested in it – I don’t ‘ship’ any pairings usually, but if I had to choose one, I’d go with Valerie and her MX partner. x-)
> 
> This fanfic can also be found on Tumblr and Fanfiction.net under the username argent-snow.


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